


this town ain’t big enough for the both of us

by neptunem



Category: Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: Deaf Characters - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn, friends to lovers you know the drill, pi and ps BOTH have ssd because I Say So, single sided deafness, there are other characters too like the crew but this is mostly about ps and pi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:54:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26500954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neptunem/pseuds/neptunem
Summary: Slow burn friends to lovers fic between PI and PS. Inspector and Sleuth are two separate detectives just trying to get by in Midnight City. Sleuth catches wind of an awfully big case that involves the Midnight Crew but he needs Inspector’s help.
Relationships: Pickle Inspector/Problem Sleuth
Kudos: 3





	1. Hyacinth

It’s 4pm. Inspector stares blankly at the legal notepad on his desk, desperately trying to will his mind into taking him anywhere but here. His cramped, office-bedroom combo. There hasn’t been a client in two weeks, and his savings have dwindled down to a pathetic 20 bucks after rent. The city is  _ full _ of people needing help finding stolen possessions, missing persons, mysteriously unaccounted for money, and yet… Nothing. Inspector is good at what he does, but his name just doesn’t seem to get around town. Is it his title? Sure, “ _ Pickle Inspector _ ” doesn’t roll off the tongue like a certain other detective across the city, but it certainly isn’t forgettable. His work isn’t easily forgotten. 

He does wonders for his clients. Every mystery solved. Every question and concern already thought through and answered. Inspector’s clients always come out satisfied and thank him for his quick and surprisingly meticulous work. 

Is it the work space? Inspector looks around. He doesn’t need to move his head much to get a good view of the entire room. It’s rectangular and windowless. A grey couch is squeezed next to the single door for the clients to sit. There’s a drawer against the arm of it, box of tissues ready for those particularly tearful cases. Next to him, a black desk and a file cabinet filled with Manila folders and scraps of printer paper resides neatly filed. It’s minimal and he does his best to keep it clean. Although, by “keeping it clean,” he means stuffing all his possessions and clothing under the couch cushions and in the night stand. 

Pickle Inspector’s eyes finally land on the mirror behind the couch, catching his own reflection. Three things stand out to him. That unruly blonde hair that curls in all the wrong places, dull muddy-brown eyes, and the bright red hearing aid that curls around his right ear like a snake.

That unforgettable detail. 

He takes the offending eyesore off, slamming it down on the desk and holds his face in his hands. It’s time to get some air. 

—

Inspector holds his coat a little closer to his body as he steps outside the building. The air’s beginning to turn cold and dry- it was just last week that he noticed the leaves begin to fall off the trees. They were now collecting on the sidewalks, dry and crunchy. He took great satisfaction when stepping on them (If no one was looking, of course). 

The walk takes him past Central Star park, where children are playing and chasing one another. Nestled into the landscape, a river runs through. The city was built around this winding river, which eventually leads to the docks and ocean. That was hundreds of years ago by now, and practically no one around really thinks about the origins of the city besides history teachers. 

As he makes his way down the sidewalk, Inspector begins to notice copies of the same poster plastered over street poles and benches. At first there’s one or two, and he tries to ignore them. He can immediately recognize his  rival’s fellow detective’s face pictured on all of them, which becomes harder to ignore as the posters grow in numbers. It becomes ridiculous when he stops at a street lamp plastered entirely in them. 

Inspector sighs, standing up straight and grabbing one of the posters. Problem Sleuth’s winning smile beams up at him in streaky black and white. Did Sleuth print this off himself? He needs more ink. The bottom text reads

_ ‘Misfortunes and Mysteries? No problem too tough to crack for Problem Sleuth! _

_ Now in a new location! 1550 Hyacinth St. Unit A6 _

_ Call 531-8008 for a free consultation’  _

Inspector furrowed his brow, reading the address over and over again. That’s just down the street from him now, who does he think

— “You interested in my services?” A voice perks up from behind him. Inspector briefly considers pretending not to hear him. He could continue his stroll, have a nice walk still, but instead he turns. A frown forms on his face, looking down at the detective. 

“Sleuth, you’re relocating here? I’ve already established my business on this street. I’ve been here over a  _ year _ .” He stressed. They’d met briefly before, just in passing. Most of their interaction came from seeing each other’s work. Sleuth had undoubtedly seen Inspector’s ads in the papers, and he sure as Frog knew that 1549 Hyacinth was Pickle’s domain. 

“Oh. Pickle. Didn’t recognize ya there.” Sleuth’s chipper tone becomes apprehensive.

“It’s Inspector. Please be professional.”

“Right, right,” The Inspector watches Sleuth’s eyes wander to the right side of his face, ogling the garish red aid. Clients did that too, but it wasn’t helping Pickle’s mood at the moment.“Was hoping to run into you. I’ve got somethin’ to discuss with ya. Got a minute?” Sleuth held out a hand, “It’ll just be a minute, come inside.” 

Sleuth nods towards the building next to them. It’s labeled clearly, A6 painted in black lettering on one of the many white doors lining the sidewalk. They both looked at it for a few moments, before turning back to each other. Sleuth tried to break the tension with a half smile, and the Inspector relented.

“ _ Fine _ .” 


	2. Calla Lily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stating for the record, my two lovely partners helped edit and contribute major writing points to make the fic the way it is. It’s not just me writing (:

The first thing the Inspector notices upon entering Sleuth’s “office” is the light color pallet. He’s standing on a tan carpet, surrounded by white walls. Facing the entrance is a simple plywood desk, dressed with a lime green vase.Three cut calla lilies are stuffed into the vase, almost out of place in an otherwise simple room. To his immediate right, a wooden floor kitchen is filled with unopened cardboard boxes labeled in sloppy black lettering. 

Sleuth leads the Inspector to his desk, gesturing for him to sit down. Inspector sits on one of the two grey cushioned seats, scrutinizing the two doors looming behind Sleuth’s desk. It’s crowded. This is an awfully unprofessional place to conduct business. What, does he go about luring his clients in with so many dizzying words and pretty flowers? Should Inspector get flowers? Is that the secret to more clients? Flowers? 

Sleuth has all the swagger of a scoundrel, leaning on the desk with one hand. 

“I get it, Pickle. This looks bad. Just hear me out, okay? I know you’re a smart fella,” He hates how Sleuth states the obvious. Of course he’s smart, he’s a detective. Perhaps the best one in the city.

Inspector interrupts him with a clarification, “Call me Inspector. This doesn’t _look_ bad. It _is_ bad.” 

“Like I said, you’re smart. You’ll get it if you just let me explain first. Really, this is a win-win scenario.” He pauses to allow Pickle’s glare. 

“Business has been… let’s say, less than stellar for me lately. I found something, though. Something big. The kind of case that’s gonna take a lot of man hours— more than I can handle on my own. There’s a jackpot at the end, I promise you. I can smell it.” His words are stressed and vague, enthusiasm bursting through them. 

Inspector nods, holding his tongue. 

“I’ve been keepin’ up with your work an I like what ya do. You’re so...” He clenches one fist in the air, then opens it for emphasis. “You get _inside_ the head of a criminal. It’s amazing.” Sleuth crouches down on one knee as if to propose. Here come the theatrics. 

“ _And_ it’s exactly what I need right now.” He shines his practiced smile. “I've got everything worked out. There’s a building a short drive from here- they have two rooms open to rent. You can finally have a real office! Third floor! I—“

“Stop,” Pickle really hates interrupting again, dignified enough not to contest the backhanded comment about his office. “Stop trying to sell me on this. I’m not a client. What did you find?” Inspector isn’t here for…. whatever this performance is supposed to be.

“Well. I can’t really… tell you yet. None of the details are public, this ain’t info I can just hand out. I need to know if you’re on board first.” 

“Sleuth, I barely know you. I’m not on board with anything you’re doing.” Inspector’s tone is final and even. What was this guy thinking? Sleuth comes all the way over to _his_ side of the city, starts advertising on _his_ streets, and wants them to be all buddy-buddy? He waltzes in here offering to give him an office? “This is ridiculous, detective. How could you expect me to go along with something I don’t even know about? It’s awfully rude of you to hang up your face around here and take my clients and then offer me a _business_ proposal out of some sick mercy. I’m trying to run a business, and I don’t need your help.” 

“I was typin’ up a letter for you to explain it all, but better to speak to you in person right? You were standin’ right there. I’m just tryin’ to take the chance to tell you.” Sleuth’s bravado deflates, standing back up and performatively brushing himself off.

“Tell me what? What is _so_ important that you had to move your work down here?”

Problem Sleuth took a deep breath, leveling his gaze. “Work with me, Pickle. I need your help.”

He’s becoming increasingly frustrated with not being given a straight answer. “It’s _Inspector,_ and the answer is no.” Pickle straightened up, buttoning his coat. “You know where my office is. Drop off your letter if you decide to stop being coy about this case. If not, I’m not interested in whatever it is you’re attempting to get me involved with. Goodnight.” 

The Inspector leaves quickly, saving his sighs and huffs for when he’s outside. The _nerve._ He looks down at his watch. 4:47 p.m, with nothing on the schedule. He walks off to attend to his “errands.”

—

The street lights start turning on at 6pm, the same time his stomach starts growling to be fed. He’s still out on his walk, but he’s cooled down from his run-in with Sleuth. He isn’t far from his home. Within the next half hour, he will be back at his apartment cooking a pack of ramen and biting into an apple. 

Going on long walks wasn’t out of the ordinary for him, and he knew just where he was. Where all the shortcuts and dead ends were. Sleuth would have to learn these streets. He took great satisfaction in knowing this place better than that backwards gumshoe. 

Turning around, he observes the streets back home. It’s still busy out as people are making their way back home from work. Most everyone he sees is a familiar face, either from working for them or seeing them out and about from his life here. There’s one rather odd one out, though. A tall gentleman in a casual dark brown suit, with a matching hat set upon his head. He was leaning against an abandoned building’s window, one hand holding his cigarette while the other was holding a bouquet of black calla lilies. 

Inspector remembers that the building used to be a laundromat before it went out of business a few months back. 

The stranger must’ve noticed the Inspector ogling, because he discreetly moves his smoking hand down at his side, knocks twice on the blacked out window and walks away. After snubbing his cigarette on a public ashtray he disappears into an alley, unnoticed by the eye of the public.

Inspector decides to go back the way he came. There’s no point in going through the shady shortcuts, where he could be mugged for his measly twenty dollars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really hope my interpretations of the characters aren’t too blasphemous from the fanbase’s. imo pickle can be an assertive and passive aggressive bitch lmao especially towards sleuth. i love them. gee i hope they kiss!


End file.
